


Here for you

by NikaAnuk



Series: Holmes Brothers [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Incest, M/M, Post-Wedding, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaAnuk/pseuds/NikaAnuk
Summary: Another part of the same verse.We all remember the scene, when Sherlock leaves John's wedding. So, that's what I think happened later.whatdoyoumean did beta for this one. Thank you, darling!All mistakes are mine.





	Here for you

The place was, of course, filthy. Adding to the gloom, probably. 

 

Mycroft wrinkled his nose and stepped inside carefully, expecting someone laying on the other side. 

 

The room was empty except of trash and cans, the glassless windows letting in the cold air. The smell of docks and mud coming from outside. Mycroft looked around and left immediately. Sherlock wasn't here. He hadn’t shown up here tonight. 

 

Tonight. The evening when Mycroft had a meeting with French ambassador, had to cancel his visit to Buckingham Palace and hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. The last one though could be a blessing, the weather made him eat more than usual, and it showed. 

 

Tonight. On the night of John Watson's wedding. 

He went back to the car; Anthea keeping the door open for him. 

 

“Second address,” he said, getting in. 

 

She had a list of places where Sherlock could be, in case of emergency. There were nine places there, this was the third they checked. 

 

At first Mycroft was really unhappy to see Watson so close to Sherlock. More for Sherlock's sake of course. There were three ways this could play out, Watson could die, he could marry, or he could live with Sherlock for the rest of his life. Of course the worst happened. 

 

He was looking out of the window. The phone laying on the seat next to him. He was connected to every camera in this city, but that method was no use with Sherlock. His younger brother made an art of being a nuisance. 

 

He could kill himself, of course, but Mycroft thought personally they were past this point already. There would be no suicide, no overdose; Sherlock would suffer, as he always did, pretend he didn't, sulk, stay quiet, maybe try to be human. And then everything would go back to normal. 

 

That's why Mycroft thought emotions were so unimportant. They were sudden explosions of chemicals in a body. They came and went. 

  
  


 

The side door to Victoria and Albert Museum was open for him – Sherlock probably just broke in. Mycroft walked the dark corridors, passing the silhouettes of the sculptures and climbed the stairs. Turned right in The Dorothy and Michael Hintze Galleries until he saw the sculpture of Samson Slaying a Philistine. From a few steps away he knew Sherlock wasn't here. But still he made it the whole way. In the dim lights he could just about make the outline of the marble figures. But he knew it very well, they spent a lot of time here together, Mycroft admiring the work, Sherlock fascinated by the cruelty in the twisted bodies and raised weapon. 

 

Mycroft contemplated the art for a moment. He could go through the whole list of places, and eventually he would find Sherlock exactly where he expected him in the first place. Was there really a reason to lie to himself? He didn't have time for all that. 

 

They had a conversation about revenge. They agreed it gave one satisfaction but was completely pointless as such, since it didn't have the power to undo the harm made. Mycroft had a list of at least five ways in which he could make Watson's life harder. But that was not it. He looked at the sculpture once again and turned back. There was nothing to do for him in here. He knew where Sherlock would be, it was the best time to be honest with oneself. 

 

He walked out of the door and security officer locked it behind him. Anthea waited for him at the car. 

 

“Home,” he said and got in the car again. 

 

It was so convenient to have people around who could do everything he needed. He relaxed in the car, planning tomorrow. He will have less time than he expected; there were meetings from today he had to hold tomorrow. He reached for the phone, to change the schedule and start catching up with the reports from today. 

  
  


The car stopped at the parking and he got out, handing his phone to Anthea, having a short look around. 

 

“There were changes to the schedule, please update it,” he told her and then walked to the house, the phone vibrating with a message in her hand. 

  
  
  


 

The doorman opened the door for him and touched his cap. Mycroft nodded to him and entered the building. The great hall was empty and cool. He ignored the staircase and the postboxes, and headed towards the elevator. It was middle of the night, he could justify being lazy. 

 

With mind so great, it was a pity that his body was so weak. If he loses the focus for only a moment, he will gain so much weight, it would ruin his career. 

 

The door was still closed, and for a second Mycroft thought maybe he made a mistake. If someone could cheat him, that would be his brother. 

 

He turned on the lights. The hall was empty, he placed his umbrella and took off his coat and walked slowly through the flat. It was unnecessarily big, furnitured the same way he bought the flat. Nothing changed, except of his office, where he kept his laptop. 

 

The flat was clearly empty. He passed everything and just walked to the office. It smelled like cigarettes and rain. Mycroft walked to the desk and turned on a small lamp. The window was open and he closed it. 

 

“You know I don't approve of smoking in the house,” he said, not even turning towards the sofa. 

 

Instead he turned on the computer and waited to log into it. With that done, he walked back to the kitchen, to make a cup of coffee. 

 

In the warm light he could see Sherlock's hair on the pillow. He was still in his coat and his shoes, laying on the sofa, facing away, hugging himself. 

 

The coffee machine working quietly, Mycroft went to his bedroom, to take a shower and change from the suit, getting in shirt and fresh trousers. Changing the contact lenses for the glasses and releasing two buttons from his shirt, he went to grab his cup of coffee and returned to the office. 

 

Sherlock didn't move and Mycroft passed by him, sat down and pulled out reports from today 

 

He was silent, clicking, reading, sending an email to MP.  After almost an hour he finally heard Sherlock stir. 

 

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, reading the report from Metropolitan Police. 

 

Sherlock scoffed, and wrapped the coat tighter around himself. 

 

Mycroft needed him back, talking, arguing. Anything but this sulking silence. 

 

“You are smart, or so I've heard, brother mine. You had to know this would happen eventually,” his voice was cool and dismissing. He wanted to convince Sherlock that all this emotion nonsense was unnecessary.

 

Sherlock kept silent, but it was less hostile now. Mycroft kept working for some time and then decided to go to bed, hoping that enough time passed for Sherlock, to go to sleep too. 

 

He switched off the computer and stopped by Sherlock. “Please, do not spend the whole night here. There are two beds in this house after all.” 

 

Two. The guest one and his own. That was the best of an invitation by he could do.

 

Leaving the door ajar, he changed into pyjamas and brought a glass of water from the kitchen. When he came back, the left side of his bed was taken by his brother. He made a show of not getting under the covers and not taking off his coat. 

 

Mycroft didn't comment but laid down on his side and covered himself. He would probably end up with Sherlock somewhere closer to him but that would be a good sign and Mycroft looked forward to it. 

 


End file.
